Dark Obsession: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 3)

by Sarah Piper

  Dorian let loose a laugh, but Gabriel failed to see the humor.

  Instead, he turned on Dorian with ice in his eyes. “I know you think you’re in love, brother, but that’s no reason to let this woman lead you into the wolf’s den.”

  So much for Gabriel’s compassion.

  “In all your long years, brother,” Dorian snapped, “have you ever cared for anyone? Or do you honestly prefer keeping your bed as cold as your heart?”

  Gabriel slammed his drink onto the mantle. “Insults. Excellent strategy. In the meantime, I hope you like the feeling of hellfire up your ass. I’m sure Rogozin will pull out all the stops, especially after what we did to his demons in Woodside.”

  “You were supposed to pin that on Chernikov.”

  “I did what I could, brother. No guarantees. Had I known you’d be pitching him a deal, I might’ve suggested a different strategy in Woodside. Alas…”

  “Bloody hell, Gabriel. This isn’t a game. This—”

  “This is a suicide mission! You can’t possibly think you can walk in there and make a deal with the very demons we tortured! The very demons with the power to kill you in a bloody heartbeat!”

  “What other options do we have? Chernikov is gaining power as we speak. We can’t very well—”

  “Gabriel’s right, Dorian,” Charlotte said.

  “Finally,” Gabriel said with a shallow laugh. “The human is talking sense again.”

  “He’s being a total douche about it,” she added, glaring at Gabriel with a look that would’ve set a mortal man on fire. Then, turning back to Dorian, “But he’s right. You can’t pitch a deal to Rogozin… But I can.”

  Dorian blinked. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right.

  “Charlotte,” Aiden said, “while I agree you’ve brought us some ideas worth considering here, I’m afraid I can’t—”

  “No,” Dorian said, his mind finally catching up with her ridiculous suggestion. “Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

  “Come now, brother,” Gabriel mocked. “Charlotte asked us to give her a fair shot. If she wants to get herself killed, that’s—”

  “Gabriel, I’m telling you right now, if you—”

  “Rogozin will bite,” Charlotte cut in. “I have proof one of his most trusted advisors is conspiring with my uncle—a longtime Rogozin associate—to double-cross him. And I’d be going in as an emissary to the vampire king, offering him the deal of a lifetime on the blade and a seat on the supernatural council. There’s no way he’ll refuse to see me.”

  “I’m not worried about him refusing the invitation,” Dorian said. “I’m worried about him picking up where he left off when you were a child.”

  “That wasn’t Rogozin. Those men were humans, or I’d already be dead. Besides, apparently I’m some kind of hell-bride for his precious raven king, remember? Isabelle said Rogozin’s demons won’t touch me.”

  “She’s right, Dorian,” Isabelle said. “I understand your concern, but I’m with Charlotte on this one.”

  “Charlotte…” he breathed, his heart already seizing with untold worries, but he feared he’d already lost the argument. He felt the shift in the energy—a sense of new hope rising among them, where moments earlier there had only been despair.

  Even Gabriel seemed to be thawing out again, quietly nursing his drink in the corner of the room.

  Dorian closed his eyes and sighed.

  It was a terrible idea. The worst.

  But also a damned good one.

  Dorian felt Charlotte’s presence before him, and he opened his eyes just as she reached up to touch his face, a soft smile curving her lips.

  “I can do this, Dorian,” she said. “I’m asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to back me up. And I’m asking you to believe in me.”

  By the light of her beautiful, determined eyes, the last of his resolve melted away.

  “I always believe in you, love.”

  “Then you’d better put on that kettle after all, vampire king. And we should probably get some Chinese takeout.” Charlotte’s soft smile stretched into a bright grin. “We’ve got a plan to hatch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Charley had saved a single pair of Christian Louboutin stilettos from her paired-down wardrobe, and now those heels clacked against the cold marble floor as she strode purposefully across the hotel lobby, her chin held high, shoulders squared. Along with the shoes, she was dressed in a black pinstripe suit and cream-colored silk blouse, her hair in a loose twist. To everyone in the lobby, she probably looked like an ordinary businesswoman ready to make a deal over brunch, to pioneer a new venture, to take over a company.

  No one there knew she was about to risk her life brokering a deal with the second-most powerful demon in the tri-state area.

  The same demon who, eighteen years earlier, had sent his men to terrorize her in a pizzeria parking lot while her father and Rudy made some kind of shitty deal upstairs.

  The silver scar above her hip burned at the memories.

  But she wasn’t that scared little girl anymore.

  She wasn’t her uncle’s pawn, or her father’s, or anyone else’s.

  She was Charlotte fucking D’Amico. Reformed con woman. Survivor. Jersey girl for life.

  And today, she held the fate of far too many people in her hands to fuck this up.

  Hiking the laptop bag up her shoulder, Charley followed the curve of the lobby toward the elevators, then took one up to the thirty-fifth floor. As the doors opened into the exclusive French restaurant in one of Long Island City’s newest buildings, Charley steadied herself with a few deep breaths and a whispered reminder of why she was there.

  Sasha.

  Dorian.

  Aiden.

  Cole.

  Colin.

  Isabelle.

  Even Gabriel made the list.

  They were her family now. All of them. And she wouldn’t let them down.

  “Charlotte D'Amico,” she announced to the maître d'. “I’m meeting some associates for brunch.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Your party is already here.”

  The man led Charley to a set of double doors at the back of the dining room. He knocked once, and the doors swung inward, guarded by a bald, beefy man in a black suit and maroon shirt, no tie. Half of his face was covered in tattoos. The other half was covered in scars.

  Charley forced herself not to stare.

  The man dismissed the maître d' and shut the doors behind Charley, then gestured for her to open her laptop bag. She did as he asked, and he quickly examined the contents while she took in the scene before her.

  The private dining room was large and ornate, bathed in soft light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of lower Manhattan. The walls were a rich, buttery yellow that did nothing to warm the chill in her bones.

  In front of the windows, one man remained seated while four others rose from behind the table, their eyes fixed on her as the guard patted her down with quick, precise movements. He finished up, then grabbed her by the elbow, delivering her to the table as if she were a prize the other men had won.

  Not men, she reminded herself. Demons.

  At her approach, the one who hadn’t gotten to his feet—a demon who looked to be in his sixties, with a shock of thick white hair and piercing, steel-gray eyes—gave her the once-over. He didn’t smile.

  Rogozin.

  “Ms. D'Amico,” he said in his thick Russian accent, gesturing for her to take a seat directly across from him. “Please—join us.”

  She did as he asked, and the demons around him followed suit, settling back into their chairs. Every one of them had tattoos and scars—on their faces, their hands, peeking out of shirt collars—ornate symbols and words that mapped the stories of their lives, their crimes. She wondered if they all bore the white ravens.

  She wondered—if things went south today—if she herself would end up as another tattoo in their long and colorful stories.

/>   The thought made her shiver, but if anyone else noticed her discomfort, he didn’t say.

  Rogozin seemed to be considering his next words, while the rest of the group stared at her unflinchingly. A demon with barbed wire tattooed around his neck winked at her, and Charley had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  But she’d come this far. She would not let them intimidate her.

  Dorian and the others were counting on her.

  All of Manhattan was counting on her, whether they realized it or not.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Rogozin,” she finally said, as evenly as she could manage.

  He gave a small bow of acknowledgment. “I was intrigued to receive Dorian Redthorne’s message. For long time, I have sought way to meet with vampire royal family.”

  “He feels the same way,” Charley said, the lie sliding smoothly from her lips. It was the first of several she’d probably have to tell today—mostly white lies, just enough to grease the wheels, but lies nevertheless. Suddenly, she felt as if she’d spent her whole life training for this meeting. All the cons, all the games, all the expensive outfits and the megawatt charm.

  She was the complete package, and today, she’d work it for all she was worth.

  “As Dorian mentioned,” Charley said, “we’ve recently come upon some information we thought would be of interest to you. As some of that information relates to members of my own family, he thought I would be the best emissary.”

  Dorian had sent word to Rogozin through some of Gabriel’s contacts—a mysterious network neither Charley nor Dorian himself knew much about. They’d told the demon that Dorian had learned of his interest in a piece of Scandinavian art in his collection, as well as the disloyalty festering in the Rogozin organization. Charlotte was to bring the demons a proposal—alone, unarmed, and in good faith—for a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two factions.

  Now, Rogozin nodded, his cool demeanor revealing nothing. “I knew your father, Ms. D’Amico. He was… honorable man. I am sorry for your loss. Four years now?”

  “Five years, sir,” Charley said, fighting back the familiar sting of tears.

  “And your mother?”

  “She left when I was young.”

  Rogozin shook his head, his frown deepening. “Such shame. Beautiful young girl. No parents.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rogozin. I appreciate your kindness.”

  “But you have vampire king to look after you now, yes?”

  “Dorian and I have gotten close,” she admitted, forcing herself to keep playing the game—a delicate balancing act of lies and truths, promises and threats. “He’d like to get closer to your organization as well, if you’re amenable.”

  “I think he will need bigger bed.” Rogozin and the other demons laughed.

  Charley forced herself to laugh right along with them.

  Oh yes, we’re all friends here, ha ha ha…

  “Coming to us was right thing to do,” he said.

  Charley nodded, pressing her legs together to keep from trembling. She was so parched, so thirsty, but she didn’t dare reach for her water glass, lest she knock it over and cause an explosion of hellfire.

  Dorian, Gabriel, Isabelle, and Aiden were at a restaurant around the corner, but that was little more than a show of support. It wouldn’t do her any good if things went bad here.

  Right now, there were only two things keeping her safe: the fact that she was promised to Azerius, and the assumption—the hope—that Rogozin didn’t want to start a war with the vampires.

  “Would you like a drink?” Rogozin gestured toward a decanter of clear liquid—vodka, she guessed.

  Charley shook her head, then cursed herself for not knowing the custom. Was she supposed to politely decline the offer? Or was it rude not to accept? She was about to change her mind when one of the other demons let out another raucous laugh. He leaned over to the demon with the barbed wire tattoo and said something in Russian, making the rest of the demons laugh too.

  Fear crept down Charley’s spine, settling like a block of ice in her stomach. She had no idea what they were laughing about—killing her? Dumping her body out with the restaurant trash? Incinerating her? Did they all know she was promised to Azerius? Isabelle was certain they could sense the mark, and Charley was certain Rogozin had something to do with giving it to her, but still.

  There were a lot of unknowns.

  Nowhere to go but through it…

  Charley closed her eyes and took another breath, deep and calming. When she opened her eyes again, they were all watching her, waiting. The room had gone so quiet, she heard the ice cubes shifting in their water glasses.

  “Gentlemen,” she finally said, digging deep to find her strength. An image of Sasha filled her mind, and she clung to it. “You are obviously very busy men.” She pulled her laptop from the bag and set it on the table with a thunk, making the silverware rattle. “Allow me to get right to the point.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Charley laid out her case like a master prosecutor, presenting the evidence of Estas and Rudy’s treachery, including Rudy’s plans to escape to Brazil before delivering the artifact he’d promised Rogozin and Chernikov.

  They might not have trusted her when she’d first walked in here today, but Rogozin and his demons couldn’t ignore the evidence. It was too compelling, and much too complex a scheme for her to be making it all up.

  “I always knew Rudy D’Amico was piece of shit,” Rogozin said when she’d finished. “No offense to your family name.”

  “None taken.”

  “Estas? He surprises me. I thought he was loyal.”

  “I understand the feeling, sir.”

  “Yes, I suppose you do.” He chewed the ice cubes from his water glass, considering her for a long moment. The other demons stared at her with blank eyes.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, Rogozin finally said, “You told me story of betrayal in my organization. Maybe I owe you story as well.”

  “I’d love to hear it.” Charley forced a smile through a wave of nausea. Was he serious? Or was he stringing her along, only to deliver some terrible punchline at the end—something to amuse his brooding demonic sidekicks?

  “Your father, Paul,” he said, and Charley immediately stilled. Of all the stories he could’ve told her, she was not expecting one starring her father.

  “He did not know about us,” Rogozin continued. “About supernatural, I mean. Not until later. But Rudy, he always knew. He was working side jobs for me for many years—since he was school boy with broken heart. His girlfriend sleeps with his brother, he says.”

  Charley nodded. “I understand my mother was capricious. I recently learned she and my uncle had a longtime affair.”

  “Yes, and for all that time, he made deals to get her back. One day, he promised me some very valuable items. He brought your father to make delivery.” He held her gaze a beat, ensuring she got his meaning, and Charley sucked in a breath.

  He was talking about the Long Island pizza place.

  Where you off to, little girl?

  A chill gripped her spine, but she forced herself to remain still. Stoic.

  “But when they made delivery,” Rogozin continued, “I discovered all items were forgeries. As you can imagine, I became upset.”

  So upset you sent your goons after a helpless kid?

  “After that…” He shook his head, then took a deep drink of vodka, his eyes filling with something that looked a hell of a lot like shame. “Understand something, Ms. D’Amico. I did not send those men after you.”

  His eyes grew dark and imploring, boring right through to her very soul. The way he looked at her… It was as if he could read her thoughts. As if he needed her to believe him.

  Strangely enough, she did.

  “I did not know you were in car,” he said. “Did not know you even existed. The men—two humans working for me—they acted of their own accord, thinking I would be please
d. I was not. But by the time I realized what happened, your father was…” He made a shooting gesture with his hand, and Charley flinched, remembering the popping sound as her father took down her attackers. “I respected him for protecting his daughter, but I could not let him go unpunished. I would’ve looked weak at a time when my organization did not have power it has today.”

  Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down, along with a mouthful of curses. She knew all too well how power plays worked. Knew all too well that women and girls would always be used as pawns and prey, so long as the system was built to keep rewarding the predators.

  “I made your father offer,” Rogozin said. “That is when he learned of supernatural. I gave him three choices—I could kill all three of you, I could turn you into vessels, or I could spare your lives and souls, if he agreed to make an offering to—”

  “Azerius,” Charley gasped, the realization slamming into her with a clarity so sharp and bright, it made the stars dance before her eyes. “My father sold my soul to a demon lord?”

  Rogozin raised an eyebrow—the only sign he was at all surprised that she knew.

  From the moment Dorian had told her about the demon mark, Charley was certain it was her uncle’s doing.

  But her father?

  Charley reached for her water glass, unsure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or simply disappear.

  “You were child,” he said. “Your guardian had right to make deal for you. He thought it was best choice of three bad choices. He was honorable man, as I said. He made deal, but only because he believed he could find escape hatch. He had many years to make plan. Then one day, your uncle tells me Paul is going to do one last job, take money, flee country with you, and hire witch to break demon bind.”

  Tears blurred Charley’s eyes as she recalled her uncle’s words in the limo.